


Seeing You

by MellytheHun



Series: Tumblr Sterek Prompts [16]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bonding, Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-06 10:44:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18386843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellytheHun/pseuds/MellytheHun
Summary: Prompt: "I wish I could hate you." + the Hunter's Moon





	Seeing You

“So, it’s the one night he can get fatally wounded in ways he otherwise wouldn’t, his psyche is weakened and can be influenced by an outsider, he can’t fully shift, and he is spending it _alone_ in _the woods_ ,” Stiles summarizes dryly.

Scott opens his mouth to retort, but Stiles interrupts, and adds, “which is fully populated by unimaginable creatures that go bump in the night that _regularly try to kill him_.”

When Scott goes to answer again, Stiles adds, “and you _let him_.”

Scott waits a beat to make sure he can finally speak before he answers.

He lets out a big sigh.

“Well,” Scott shrugs, rubbing the back of his head, “I didn’t think it was a _great_ idea, but -”

“Yeah, it’s more like a _horrendous idea_ that will go _immeasurably wrong_ -”

“He really wanted to be alone!” Scott defends, “I can’t make the guy do anything, Stiles.”

Stiles gapes at his flighty friend.

“YES. YES, YOU _CAN_ , SCOTT,” Stiles yells, waving his arms around, “IT’S THE HUNTER’S MOON,” he gestures violently at the full moon in the sky, “YOU CAN INFLUENCE HIS PSYCHE. WE LITERALLY _JUST_ WENT OVER THIS.”

“Oh… right,” Scott says absently, eyes sort of glassy, and far away, “Maybe he was influencing mine to make me go away…?”

All things considered, it’s an insightful observation on Scott’s part.

Stiles sighs dramatically, and throws on his jacket, knowing full well that he has the upper hand tonight, and he will be the only willing human to go out into those godforsaken woods on behalf of the surliest werewolf to ever snuffle.

And to his surprise, it doesn’t take long to find Derek.

He’s sitting in a clearing not far from the unlit road leading to his decrepit childhood home, his legs crossed in a pretzel, his shoulders looking expansive as ever, but unusually relaxed. He’s staring up at the moon, and doesn’t give any sign that he’s noticed Stiles’ intrusion. 

Feeling mostly done with the entire day, resenting his babysitter status, and just generally too exhausted to be fearful of Derek’s reaction, Stiles walks up to Derek from behind, and comes to stand next to him.

He looks up at the moon, and the perfect view Derek has of it, then down at Derek, whose face is uncharacteristically lax; whose eyes are those of a stranger - a stranger who allows their innermost thoughts and feelings to cross through their gaze like big, bright words on a teleprompter.

Just the look on Derek’s face makes the dark chains around Stiles’ heart loosen, and Stiles lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in.

“Hey,” Stiles starts.

Derek turns his head to the right, and then up, to look at Stiles, and says very gently, casually and quietly, “hi, Stiles.”

Stiles blushes, and he’s not sure why.

The relaxation in his chest cavity has gone away, though, and has been replaced with rabid butterflies.

He looks back at the moon so he doesn’t have to look at Derek’s intimidatingly pretty face.

“How you doin’ out here, pal?”

Derek shrugs in Stiles’ periphery, and replies, “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking a lot about death.”

Alarmed, Stiles snaps his head back to Derek, but Derek looks calm, even tranquil. 

“What… I mean… what about death, exactly?”

“Just… I’ll die someday,” Derek states simply, “My heart is going to stop beating one day. And I really don’t want it to hurt. And I’m desperately hoping there is something else after this, because the thought of nothingness…almost makes me resent being alive at all.”

Stiles waits a few moments before taking a seat in the grass next to Derek. He rubs at his forehead for a second, then rests his cheek in his hand, his elbow propped on his boney knee.

He looks at Derek fondly, and admits, “I wish I could hate you.”

Derek’s brow furrows in evident confusion, and Stiles looks away, tilts his head a little more up towards the moon. 

“It would just… I think it would just make everything a lot easier for me.”

“You don’t hate me?”

Stiles’ eyes glide back to Derek’s, and maybe he’s getting a contact high, or maybe being a Spark means the Hunter’s Moon does strange things to him too, or maybe he just responds to vulnerability by letting down his own guards. Whatever the root cause is, he opens his mouth and admits, “not even a little.”

Derek is genuinely surprised. 

“Do you hate me?”

“No,” Derek answers readily, “I care about you more than anyone.”

That makes Stiles’ heart bump, and his face gets hot.

He looks away, because he feels like he’s taking advantage of a person under the influence of something, like a truth serum, or morphine. Or a combination of the two. And he’s looking away, but he knows in his heart - his selfish, faulty, human heart - that he wants to hear more, and he won’t stop here. 

“More than anyone?”

“More than anyone,” Derek repeats certainly, “I find myself thinking about you a lot. Times I don’t expect you to be there, in my head.”

Stiles reluctantly looks back at Derek, but thankfully, Derek is staring at the moon again. It reflects back into Derek’s kaleidoscope eyes, his blown pupils, shimmering like broken light on water against Derek’s thick lashes. Like he and the moon are carrying on a conversation as well.

“Even when you aren’t at the forefront of my mind, I'm always thinking of you. Wondering where you are. If you’re safe.”

Stiles smiles a little, because a warmth is spreading in his chest, and he’s bad at handling feeling special, or even just generally cared about. Or cared about _by_ someone special.

“I wonder if you think about me too,” Derek adds nearly inaudibly, like he’s only imagining Stiles there.

“I do think about you a lot,” Stiles tells him honestly.

Then the actual unimaginable happens.

Derek turns, and ducks his head shyly, looks up at Stiles from under his lashes playfully, and _smiles_.

It is a monumental moment in human _and_ superhuman history as far as Stiles is concerned, and it is easily the most disarming experience of Stiles’ life.

He wonders suddenly if they’re flirting - if _Derek_ is flirting. Flirting with _him_.

The stars, and the big moon, and the way Derek’s eyes are so open, and so readable, all the air is so intimate, and very nearly romantic (and would be, if Stiles ever had the grace for romance).

“You do?”

“I do,” Stiles chuckles, unsure why he’s so happy, or why this is funny, “I do think about you a lot.”

He’s going to blame the moon in the morning if this goes as horribly as he thinks it will, but overcome with tides of trust, and fondness, and openness, and a thousand other unnamable feelings he’s not sure he’s ever felt before, he leans closer to Derek, and rests their foreheads against each other.

The moonlight is glowing in the spaces between their profiles, and Derek’s skin is so much softer than Stiles ever imagined it being. He feels warm, almost feverish, but his eyes are clear, and his breath is sweet smelling, and without thinking anymore about it, Stiles closes the space between them, and kisses Derek’s lips.

He expects the prickle of Derek’s stubble to be more bothersome, but it borders more on ticklish, really.

He expects Derek’s lips to be silky smooth, and maybe thin, but they’re full, and just a little chapped. He also expects Derek to pull away first, but Derek is the one that comes chasing after Stiles’ retreating lips. Stiles expects Derek to use his strong, broad hand to push at Stiles’ shoulder, to get him to back away, but Derek’s strong, broad hand cups his neck, and pulls him closer.

He feels Derek’s canines lengthen, and sharpen just a little against his bottom lip, and he gasps at the rewarding thrill it gives him.

Derek backs away, obviously worried that he’s either hurt, or frightened Stiles, but when he looks into Stiles’ open expression, and Stiles _knows_ Derek can see the pleasure, and the trust, and the animal _want_ there, Derek pauses to smile.

“I think of you every time I look at the moon,” Derek whispers.

Stiles tilts his head curiously, “why?”

Derek gives just a slight shake of his head, enough that the tip of his nose brushes against Stiles’, and he says, “I’m not sure. I look at the moon, and I think about death, and nothingness, and if there’s nothingness, I feel resentful, but then… I remember you.”

Stiles’ heart starts making a valiant climb up his throat.

“And I think to myself, something like… ‘oh, that’s right. It was all worth it, even if it ends in nothingness.’”

Derek gazes long into Stiles’ eyes, unbothered by Stiles’ awed silence, and then he adds, “every time I look at the moon, I'm seeing you.”

Unable to handle hearing much more, Stiles kisses Derek again, and doesn’t hesitate when Derek climbs on top of him. He welcomes Derek’s warm hands when they move up his torso, under his shirts and jacket, and he laughs when Derek tells him how much he dislikes not seeing more of Stiles’ body more often. 

Stiles runs his fingers through Derek’s satin hair, touches Derek’s lips, and cheeks, and neck, and shoulders, and arms, spreads his legs, and arches his back, wanting to push Derek further, test every boundary, cross every line, savor every moment - everything feels like a dream. 

He doesn’t whine when all Derek wants to do is touch him affectionately, and kiss him dizzy. He makes a grateful whine when Derek grinds back against him, when Derek touches his sides, his ribs, his nipples, neck, and hair. 

When he bares his neck to Derek, the thrill of danger runs through him again at seeing Derek’s eyes flash brightly before he takes his rightful place in the crook of Stiles’ neck. He bites gently, sucks, and licks with just enough pressure to leave a deep, dark mark, and he runs his canines against it teasingly, shaking with control, and it’s the best high of Stiles’ life.

He wonders how he’s going to explain these grass stains on his back, wonders how he’ll ever be able to shake the softened, dreamy look he knows is in his eyes, and across his face. He wonders if loving an older man like Derek is dangerous, wonders if it means he’s broken, or something’s wrong with him. But he stops wondering when Derek’s arms slide beneath him, pulling him closer so he can feel Derek’s heart beating against his own.

His eyes open in slits, eyelids heavy with lax pleasure, and when he looks up at the moon, he sees Derek. 

* * *

 

Stiles doesn’t remember falling asleep out there, but he wakes up, half-sprawled onto Derek’s side, both his and Derek’s jacket providing a makeshift blanket beneath them.

Derek’s arm comes around him as a clear sign that he’s awake, and knows Stiles is awake now too.

The sun is just rising, the Hunter’s Moon gone, but certainly not forgotten. Quite unforgettable, actually.

Just as anxiety is about to strip every memory of all its happiness, Derek kisses his forehead, and says in a raspy, sleepy voice, “I was just thinking about you.”


End file.
